


Untouchable

by vaderina



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Touchstarved!Graves, Why nobody realised Graves had been replaced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 21:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11112900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaderina/pseuds/vaderina
Summary: Graves had never intended to become so isolated, it was a mixture of his work, his job title and the people he worked with. All things considered he had quite a good life except the only thing he missed was a friendly touch, a pat on the shoulder for a job well done or a hug to say hello/goodbye. He can't be blamed when he thinks he finds what he's been missing all along in a stranger with mismatched eyes in a speakeasy.





	Untouchable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Natecchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natecchi/gifts).



> Not beta read.  
> Characters don't belong to me, only the typos and mistakes.
> 
> For Natecchi who has been having a difficult week.

There wasn’t a time Graves could pinpoint to exactly when it happened. It just seemed like a natural progression against his will. At school he had friends, they’d hug, they’d shove each other around playfully. He remembered long evenings leaning against each other’s shoulders as they wrote essay after essay, of lying in laps and reading in front of a cosy warm fire. Then school finished and he became a junior auror. Gone were the fist bumps and hugs, they became swift and functional handshakes and proper personal distance. Where once he’d have people to lean against for a brief moment of warmth he now had colleagues who’d clap him on the back or squeeze his shoulder for a job well done. When he became a senior auror cold the workload increased exponentially. He’d stopped having the time or the energy to go out and find a warm body to spend the night with. They never really stayed around for long, on one occasion he’d had a happy three weeks with someone before they realised he was more or less married to his work. By the time Graves became the Director he’d almost forgotten what kind touches felt like. So he improvised. The tightness of his waistcoat reminded him of a full body hug. Where once he’d have a warm hand squeeze his shoulder he now had the comforting weight of his heavy coat. The cool metal of his scorpion collar pins scraping against his neck were the brush of winter chilled lips after an evening spent in Central Park. When his hair was free of the pomade and fell in his eyes, the feather light brush of the strands was a poor mimicry of gentle fingers wiping away the now ever present frown marring his brow.

It was a rare evening when Graves found himself in a little speakeasy hidden from the world at large. The tumbler of fire-whiskey rolled between his fingers as he stared at the quietly smoking liquid languidly slosh around. A warm hand sliding from his shoulder to the back of his neck was unexpected. He froze but when all the hand did was squeeze the bunched up muscles before disappearing he relaxed. The owner of the hand sat down next to him, a glass of beer in hand, fat drops of water running pretty lines down the outside. It was the smile that had Graves almost shyly grinning back. A leg pressed flush against his as mismatched eyes searched out his.

“It’s a rare treat to see you here.” The stranger offered.

“It’s a rare treat to get time enough to be here.” Graves replied. The eyes looked eerily familiar but he couldn’t quite place it. One an icy blue, the other almost black in the light. After a few more moments of frustrated searching Graves gave up, it wouldn’t matter if he’d seen the person before. Possibly he’d noted them from another time he’d made it there for a drink. It wasn’t important. They were probably after the thrill of a night sharing a bed before moving on to another intriguing body to ravish. Graves weighed up his options. Whether he had enough energy and wanted to expend the effort on the bold stranger. While he was mulling it over the strange man with mismatched eyes watched him, thigh still warm against his. Graves was torn between exhaustion and the promise of company. Before he could truly make his mind up the stranger began talking. They ended up chatting for the better part of the night. Graves only realising he should have been home and in bed hours ago when the call for last rounds rang out. The other man rose smoothly from his seat and leaned forward. The soft kiss on Graves’ cheek had his eyes closing. He’d all but forgotten what lips on skin felt like.

“Until next time, stranger.” The man whispered in his ear before turning and leaving Graves dumbstruck and light at the same time. He realised too late he still didn’t know the name of the other man. Yet the small kindness he’d given, the warmth of a fellow human next to him, there by choice and the parting kiss. It felt as though Graves had dropped some of his worries which had been weighing him down. Quietly he resolved to try and make it back to the speakeasy soon in the hopes that his stranger would be there too.

The next day was an odd contrast. Graves found himself exceptionally sensitive to human contact. It was a marvel how something as small as the touch of a stranger made him suddenly so aware of everything around him. He noted almost bitterly how at work nobody dared encroach on his personal space. While junior aurors would nudge each other and the seniors would pass the others by with small touches he was isolated. Nobody put a hand on his shoulder or waist as they moved by behind him. Nobody touched his elbow to gain his attention. And even when he took something from someone – be that reports or casefiles – their fingers never touched. He couldn’t even remember the last time anyone passed him a coffee or brought him something that wasn’t work related. All this crumpled into a bitter ball of isolated loathing in him and a resolution to go back to the bar. He couldn’t force himself on any of his subordinates but if someone willingly spent time with him in the darker corner of a bar, well he would clutch at that with both hands.

It took Graves a few days before he found himself down in the speakeasy again. A quick glance around but he couldn’t see the stranger from before. Part of him sighed with bitter disappointment but as he was there already, he might as well settle in for a drink. He was half way through his drink when cool fingers trailed across his neck just above his collar. Instead of freezing like before Graves turned with an easy smile to greet the stranger.

“And there I was worrying you weren’t going to be here tonight.” He greeted.

“I wouldn’t miss you for the world.” His stranger replied as he settled in. Leg once again pressed flush against Graves’.

“I never did catch your name last time.”

“Because I never gave it.” The stranger laughed and took a sip of his drink. The silence between them was comfortable and Graves found he could relax. He could let the stresses and worries of his job melt into the dark while he enjoyed his drink and quiet company. A hand on his arm steadied its rise as he went to take a sip.

“May I buy you another one? Seeing as I missed sharing the first half with you.”

It took less than a moment’s consideration before Graves was nodding with a shy smile. The blinding grin he got in return had him ducking, unused to something so genuine being directed at him. Work was all tight, polite smiles hiding the backstabbing and political power games. Here, a simple smile was just that. A smile the belied small pleasures and delightful company. The stranger’s hand stayed on his arm, fingers lightly brushing over and twiddling with the creases in his immaculate white shirt. They continued almost exactly where they’d left off a few nights ago. Telling anecdotes and stories of the past, never revealing too much of themselves but just enough to build a tentative friendship full of easy touches and gentle smiles.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Graves began spending more evenings in the speakeasy in the hopes of getting to spend a bit more time with his stranger. They still hadn’t exchanged names but it didn’t feel too important somehow. Their time together made all the more easier by the lack of names and knowledge of who the other was in real life. They’d built their own little world together and they were both happy. There were nights when either Graves or the Stranger didn’t make it down to the speakeasy. But they were quickly becoming few and far between nights. After three days of Graves not seeing his Stranger part of him began to worry. He didn’t even know the other’s name so he had no way to find him, to help him if something had happened to him. It was a bitter thought. On the forth night warm hands squeezed his shoulders but nobody slid into the empty seat next to him.

“Sorry I’ve been away.” Familiar tones whispered as warm breath tickled his ear. The hands on his shoulders remained, squeezing and rubbing until Graves’ head dropped forwards and tense muscles smoothed out under diligent fingers. He couldn’t help the low rumbling moan and the delighted chuckle from behind him didn’t feel rude in any way. It felt like a friend taking joy in helping him out.

Stranger plopped into the chair and took Graves’ hand in his. He continued to massage, digging his thumbs into the tired muscles on his palm and arm. That evening Graves headed home relaxed in the knowledge that his friend was okay and slightly drunk on the touch of the other man.

It went on like that for another week or so. Graves had lost track of how long he’d been visiting the speakeasy to meet up with his stranger. The people at work didn’t notice that he walked with a straighter back, that he didn’t need to wear his coat and layer up quite so much anymore. They didn’t notice that he no longer looked so pinched around the eyes. But then again they never noticed anything before then either. Their belief in giving the Director the distance and respect he commanded far outweighed the small whispers in the back of their minds that he was only human too.

Another evening in the speakeasy and this time Stranger was there before Graves. The empty chair next to him waiting for Graves to ease into and relax with the company. Their legs, as usual, were flush from hip to knee in a grounding comfort. A drink appeared in front of Graves as soon as he had comfortably settled and the smile that greeted him was so much more genuine than any one of his subordinates’ in the morning. The last thing Graves was expecting though were soft lips on his. The heat of whiskey clung to Stranger’s lips and tongue and Graves hungrily lapped at it. It wasn’t expected but it was more than welcome. They’d danced around each other enough to build up to this. To gentle kisses between sips of drinks. To a hand on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing at the short hair there. The evening ended almost too soon, Stranger getting up and leaving before Graves could invite him back home. Still, there was always the next day, or the one after that.

Gentle and casual touches had become Graves’ evenings and slowly he felt like he was blooming into the warmth of life after the cold hibernation of isolation. Each languid kiss settled somewhere deep in him with a resonating boom of joy. Each evening with his Stranger helped sooth the gnawing chills of loneliness he never asked for. By the time Stranger whispered “take me home” in his ear he had almost forgotten what it was like to only have evening filled with more work in front of a fire that never quite warmed him through.

They stumbled to Graves’ home. It was a house in a quiet suburb, hidden behind large trees and hedges. Stranger murmured appreciatively as Graves opened the door and led the way in. Lights flickered on and Graves shrugged his coat off carelessly, alcohol warming him almost as much as the company behind him. He turned with a smile, the offer of taking Stranger’s coat dying on his lips along with the curl of his easy grin.

Grindelwald stoop in front of a closed door with a cruel smirk on his face, wand out.

“This will make quite the nice prison for you Percival.” He snarled. Graves was floored by the betrayal, the sudden loss of the warmth of friendships. Instead of pleasantly drunk he just felt dizzy and sick, frozen by the cruel twist of events. He never even got a chance to reach for his wand before a curse crumpled him to the ground.

Time passed by in a haze. Grindelwald came and went from the house wear Graves’ face. He’d torture Graves, one cruciatus curse after another until fine tremors wracked his body. Then Grindelwald would cradle Graves’ broken body close to his chest, run fingers through the ever longer hair in a mockery of love. Every day he’d get home from Graves’ job with a smug smirk, on some days he’d cackle as he threw curses almost carelessly at his captive. The worst though were the days when things didn’t go as he’d planned, when something stopped him from advancing his plans as he’d wanted to. Those days he’d crouch next to Graves. Coo and rub his shoulders with too warm hands. Those hands would soon turn firm, fingers digging into bruises or tighten into a sickening pull after brushing through his hair.

Very quickly Graves began to fear his touch. He knew that no matter how gentle it started out, a light caress of his face would end in a cruel pinch of gaunt cheeks. Every touch ended in pain, a flash of agony accompanied by whispered apologies. Of being told how pretty he looks in his tormented misery. Part of Graves knew that it wouldn’t be enough for Grindelwald. Soon those touches would turn to kisses. When they did, the kisses had more bites followed by the wet soothing press of a tongue only for it to turn into another bite. Graves dreaded the day when kisses wouldn’t be enough either. He wasn’t sure he could survive the cruelty Grindelwald would taint sex with.

The day Grindelwald stopped coming home was almost a blessing. Graves’ body was littered with bruises inflicted by kind hands. He hadn’t stopped shaking since the second day of his captivity. The flurry of curses had left him weak and he was further ground down by neglect. Each rib protruded from under boot shaped bruises. Grindelwald made it a morning ritual to wake him with the soft stroke to his back followed by a vicious kick.

So in a way Grindelwald not coming back was a blessing. Graves could sink into cold solitude once again and not fear being dragged out by the most tender pain that ate away at him every night. Time became meaningless as he drifted through eternity while his body tried to heal itself. The sound of his front door opening caused a shiver to run down his spine. Graves had slowly begun to love his own company when Grindelwald was out pretending to be him. The loneliness couldn’t hurt him, he had ample practice at being by himself all these years. Alone in company at work, alone in his house after. But at least there was no pain in his solitary existence. Well, no pain that he couldn’t get used to or live with. But the bittersweet agony of Grindelwald was too much. The soft words and hard hits mixed into a swirling mess in his head until Graves couldn’t fathom where one started and the other ended.

There were people, multiple voices calling to each other in his house. Graves wondered if Grindelwald had enough of inflicting pain by himself and he’s now brought others in to join the careful unmaking of Graves. He hoped that they would at least make his suffering brief before snuffing out his pitiful life. The voice at the back of his mind whispered about all the lewd things they could do to him and he’d be powerless to stop it. The little voice roared as he tried to quash it, screamed about forced pleasure and face streaked with tears and other bodily fluids. Graves tried to curl in on himself as the voices neared the door. He didn’t want to see their faces, didn’t want to experience what they were going to do to him. The fine tremors that had been his constant companion became violent shakes as he tried to will himself invisible. The door opened with a quiet creek and someone drew in a sharp breath.

“I found him!” they called loudly. Too loudly. It reminded Graves of the nights Grindelwald would whisper sweet nothings in his ear only to scream abuse in the next breath, deafening him and leaving him with ringing ears for the next few days. More footsteps rushed to the door and he didn’t want to look up. Every voice was loud, made him flinch. Grindelwald only ever spoke softly to him and Graves had all but forgotten what normal speech sounded like. The group were obviously talking about him, probably discussing how best to break him into even smaller pieces. Like he wasn’t already scattered, sharp shards of who he used to be.

Quiet footsteps approached him and he could hear knees clicking as someone crouched next to him. A warm hand on his shoulder made him quiver in the anticipation of nails scraping over crusted over carpet burns. The hand withdrew.

“Director Graves?” The voice was soft, foreign and gentle enough to break his fragile composure. He wasn’t too proud to let the tears slip anymore. Nor to hold back on the sob. These people were here to break him anyway, what did it matter if he broke a little more before they got started?

“Percival?” the voice probed again, this time there was no touch to accompany it. Graves shuddered. Before Grindelwald so few people had called him that. Everyone at work knew him as Graves and the few friends he did keep in touch with were all ones he would write to sporadically than talk to. So really it had been years since anyone had called him Percival and when someone finally did, it was spat at him with loathing, disdain and so much venom just hearing his own name now burned and shrivelled his soul a little more. He curled his arms round his head and waited for the onslaught that was bound to follow.

Nothing came. There were murmurs from the doorway but he didn’t want to look. A cool hand settled on his ribs, fingers skating over each ridge softly.

“Sleep, Director. You’re safe now.” The voice murmured and sleep did sound so good all of a sudden. Graves wasn’t sure how the newcomer could compel him so easily but he didn’t even try to resist the darkness that engulfed him.

Waking up was an unpleasant experience. He was in a bed, body aching with the aftereffect of healing spells and potions. His mouth felt dry as it stuck to the roof of his mouth. The worst part though was that he was comfortable. The bedsheets were cool when he shifted, the weight of the blanket pressed against his whole body like the embrace of a lover. Yet once again he was alone. In a mild panic he kicked the sheets off himself and stumbled out of the bed. The cold hard floor was more welcoming in its discomfort, the harsh chill of the wall against his back more real than the warmth of a soft bed.

Once again footsteps approached and the door opened. Graves stared up at the person in a white gown frowning at the empty bed before searching eyes found him on the floor.

“Why are you down there Percival?” they asked in a saccharine sweet voice. It made Graves flinch and flatten himself against the wall. “Come on now, hop back up into bed. You’re not quite healed yet. But I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” The figure approached and Graves tried not to recoil from the gentle hand delivering a clinical touch. One hand on his shoulder and the other at his elbow. He was hauled up to his feet and deposited back onto the bed. Graves didn’t bother trying to resist. After all, with such gentle hands any resistance would turn them that much more cruel so much quicker. He was tucked back in under the heavy blanket as he stared at the ceiling, waiting for the pain to start.

Instead the person dressed in a healer’s robes reinforced some of the healing charms, smiled and left. Graves tried to relax but the bed was oppressive. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a bed. Before Grindelwald that’s for sure. One of the charms must have been a slow, gentle sleeping charm because he could feel his mind drifting and his eyes closed.

Recovery wasn’t a fast process but neither was it slow. The healers came and went from his room, Picquery and a few of the investigative team came by to take his statement. But it was just like before, nobody touched him, no friendly reassurances, nobody held his hand through the nightmares nor woke him with soft whispers. Graves missed it even though he never had such things for long and really, it wasn’t really meant for him anyway. It was just a ploy by Grindelwald. Nobody would want to get close to Graves otherwise, to touch him. He’d been tainted now, broken. But it would have been nice to have someone there with him, for him.

Graves returned to his job a few weeks later. He watched from his desk as the aurors muttered amongst themselves, head bent so close together they were almost touching. He tried not to feel jealous, tried to strangle any feelings of desire for closeness that reared its head in him. It only brought him misery and pain. He didn’t need someone to hold him at night, when he slept on the floor next to his bed. He didn’t need someone to brush against him as they wandered behind him while he brewed his coffee. He didn’t need someone to welcome him home with a sweet innocent kiss. He didn’t need anybody and nobody needed him. It was for the best. At least he tried to convince himself it was for the best.

The days blurred as he went to work, got through the day of meetings, reports, and planning then he’d get home and he’d lie on the floor just staring at the ceiling. If some nights tears slipped from the corners of his eye there was nobody around to witness them. He became much more softly spoken. His voice barely louder than a murmur. Loud noises made him jump, his body automatically tensing, waiting for the lash of pain. It wasn’t on purpose that his voice lost its volume but he found that if he spoke softly, so did the others. The department became much more quiet as they followed his example. Whether it was a conscious decision or not he wasn’t sure but he didn’t mind.

One sunny day the voice from his house, the one that told him to sleep, drifted through the bullpen. Graves stiffened at the sound, it was too loud, too full of memories he didn’t wish to keep. The voice came closer, chattering away to someone. Outside the door the conversation stops abruptly and there’s a knock on the door. Graves opens it and watches the newcomer warily. Goldstein is standing next to him and Graves would call the man a stranger except the last time he met a stranger it ended in heartbreak and disaster. The newcomer stares at him with a hopeful half smile.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” He begins, “I’m Newton Scamander.” The newcomer sticks his hand out and Graves shakes it briefly. He doesn’t revel in the first human touch he’s had in days nor does he linger on the warm grip.

“Director Graves, Head of Magical Security.” He replies.

“Well Director, most people call me Newt.” The newcomer grins, his left hand clutched around the handle of a battered suitcase.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Scamander?” Graves asks gruffly. He doesn’t need pity from someone he’s not met before.

“Well nothing really. I just wanted to meet you. The real you. And see how you were. I’m really glad you’re looking better than last time.”

“Last time?” Graves didn’t want to remember but he had no choice.

“Yes, well, you were rather poorly when I first met you. I was part of the team which found you.” The newcomer explained. “I was hoping, perhaps you’d be amenable to having lunch with me? I think we rather got off on the wrong foot. What with you-but-not-you sentencing me to death and all that.”

Graves had read the reports, he knew what the newcomer was talking about. He had a good idea that the other man only wanted to deal with his own insecurities and fears by talking to him. The newcomer didn’t really want to spend time with Graves for the sake of getting to know him. He’ll get over whatever fears and hang-ups Graves’ face had conjured up in him then he’ll be on his merry way. Yet the spark of hope for human contact was all the more difficult to extinguish. That’s how Graves found himself for the first time in years with a companion for lunch.

They went to a quiet little café down the road. The newcomer (who Graves absolutely refused to call Newtcomer even if it was funny) walked beside him, case still in hand. They strolled quietly, occasionally the newcomer would make a passing comment but there was no pressure to talk. It was almost nice. The lack of expectation, lack of pressure. Lunch was a similarly quiet affair. The newcomer would offer up a bit of himself and if Graves responded they’d quietly talk about it but if Graves kept silent it didn’t seem to bother either of them.

At the end of lunch Graves reached for his wallet but the newcomer stilled his hand with a warm palm on his wrist. Graves froze at the touch. He waited for the grip to turn painful, for nails to dig into the soft skin and pull on the tendons until they felt close to snapping. It never came. Instead warm speckled eyes waited for him to start breathing again.

“I dragged you out to lunch today, it’s only fair I treat you.”

Graves could only nod mutely, voice lost to the sudden terror of anticipation. The newcomer’s smile widened and he left to sort the bill, giving Graves a moment to gather himself.

Oddly enough the newcomer stuck around after that. He always had a bit of time for Graves, whether it was to just bring him a coffee or show him a creature. It was a welcome distraction. The small touches had Graves freezing every time though. Everything he’d craved so much before was now a trigger that left him frozen and waiting for pain. Each night the tears came as Graves struggled with the desire of human contact despite it terrifying him.

Despite this all the newcomer who slowly became Newt in Graves’ head stuck by. He let their fingers brush when he passed Graves a coffee. He placed a warm hand on his back as he moved around him if they passed. On a few occasions he’d even lay a hand on Graves’ shoulder after a difficult meeting. Slowly, like the melting of a glacier Graves relaxed into the touches. He gradually learnt to anticipate them and maybe even enjoy them. The small touches only rarely startled him now. Newt made it all seem so natural, so effortless that Graves almost forgot about worrying.

It all went to hell in a handbasket one afternoon. They’d been going out for lunches, their hands brushing against each other as they walked, shoulders bumping every few steps. Newt was in Graves’ office with him, babbling about some creature in his case. For his part Graves was paying attention with half an ear but otherwise he was watering a plant Newt had brought to him one day. Graves glanced up at Newt and his eyes fell to the other man’s lips. It wasn’t a conscious ploy, he wasn’t even sure why he’d done it. Either way Newt’s voice drifted off as he watched Graves. Then he licked his lips with a small smile and leant in. The kiss was soft, chaste and light. It was everything Graves could have wished for.

The next minute there was a loud bang, Graves was crouched against the wall, blinking up in confusion. Newt sat up on the ground with a groan and looked at Graves with a small, almost sad smile. The protective shield charm shivered in the air between them and it took Graves a few moments more to realise he was the one powering it. As soon as he realised he let it shimmer out of existence and stared at Newt with wide eyes. He expected swift and severe punishment. Not that he’d meant to but he’d just thrown the other man across the room for a simple kiss.

“I guess I should have asked first.” Newt rubbed the back of his head. “I’m sorry.”

Graves blinked dumbly. Newt was sorry? He was the victim here, Graves the monster. Why was Newt apologising? He tried to take a breath but struggled as it wheezed out of him. Black spots were dancing in his eyes and it felt like to world was about to collapse around him. There was a vacuum around him sucking the air and colour from life.

“Breathe. Follow me Graves. In.” Newt’s voice cut through the murky haze and Graves did his best to follow Newt. Gradually the world regained colour and Graves could hear the bullpen outside his office.

“There you are.” Newt smiled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that and I won’t do it again.”

Graves made a small wounded noise in his throat. He didn’t want Newt to leave him. All because he couldn’t handle a small kiss. It made his head spin how much he wanted to keep Newt yet how much he didn’t want to at the same time. Soft kisses only came before the sharp nip of teeth, pain that he couldn’t control.

“Graves. Can I call you Percival?” Newt ventured softly. It was almost enough to set Graves off again. His name burnt like poison through his veins. The tremors he’d managed to get under control came back with a vengeance and he knew Newt could see his hands shaking despite his best efforts to hide them.

“Perhaps not then. Can I come closer? You look ready to shake apart.” Newt spoke softly from where he sat. Graves found it in himself to nod. With slow deliberate movements Newt settled on the floor next to him.

“Can I hold you?” Newt offered, arms open and ready to wrap around Graves should he choose to. A brief moment of internal warring and Graves shook his head. He didn’t think he could cope with the pain in the moment. Newt smiled and let his arms drop.

“I’ll just sit here quietly with you then. Let me know if you want me to leave or anything else.” Newt offered. True to his words he sat quietly, occasionally glancing at Graves but never outright staring and never mocking him for his meltdown. After half an hour Graves cleared his throat and noted with surprise the glass of water on the ground next to him. He looked at it and then at Newt who gave him a lopsided grin. Graves took a sip of water.

“Thanks.” He croaked.

“Any time. Want to tell me what I did wrong?” Newt asked. Graves thought about it. He didn’t know how to put into words everything he felt, the desire and loathing for the same things. He didn’t think Newt would understand, he wasn’t sure he himself understood.

“I noticed you don’t like being called by your first name.” Newt mused after a bit of silence. Graves nodded slowly. “I wonder, how would you feel if I called you something else? Percy, for example?” After a moment’s consideration Graves frowned. He’d never liked being called Percy and it felt as wrong now as it did in the past.

“Okay, I’ll stick to Graves then.” Newt acquiesced easily. “What about the kiss. Was it the kiss itself or was it me? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“The kiss.” Graves eventually spit out. “But I want it. I don’t know how not to panic though.” He admitted bitterly. Newt hummed.

“I have an idea. How about if you want to, then next time you lead and I’ll follow what you’re happy with.”

“Okay.” Graves agreed. They sat quietly until his glass was empty and his hands no longer trembled. Neither of them mentioned the incident again.

A few days later Graves and Newt were walking back from lunch. Graves had no idea what they were talking about he just remembered looking over at Newt who had his head back in a carefree laugh and he wanted. So he rounded on Newt, they stopped in the middle of the street and Graves leaned in for a kiss. It was timid, light and over in a few seconds but it was still a kiss. Newt looked at him stunned with delight. They continued their walk back with a quiet contentment.

From there Newt quickly learnt how to handle Graves. What set him off, what made him purr with happiness. To begin with Graves had to initiate any kiss and they were chaste, brief, dry lip against dry lip. As his confidence grew occasionally his tongue would shyly flick out before darting back away. It was endearing and on better days Newt could return the favour. As the kisses became more intimate, Newt found he could initiate kisses when they were almost expected. After dinner, a quiet moment in the office. Moments when he knew Graves would kiss him anyway so it was safe to lead.

The first time Graves led Newt back to his house was almost a disaster. Graves was all tightly bunched muscles, he kept checking over his shoulder as he opened the door and ushered Newt in before he stood in the open doorway petrified. They ended up curled up on the floor next to the bed, Graves barely sleeping between nightmares.

Sometimes it felt that Grindelwald had tainted everything in Graves’ life. Small touches, endearments, loud noises. Everything had Graves reeling away. Newt held off on furthering their relationship. He wasn’t sure what Grindelwald had done to Graves but part of him didn’t want to find out. It was a relief when they discovered that Grindelwald’s reach didn’t extend to sex. It was still a precarious affair to start with. But they found that if Graves felt he was in control they could both thoroughly enjoy themselves. Though the first time Graves didn’t take enough care and Newt made a pained sound it had resulted in another night on the floor with Graves terrified he was slowly becoming Grindelwald, relishing in tainting pleasure with pain. They didn’t try for anything beyond soft kisses and occasionally making out for a little while. When Graves was ready he pinned Newt against the wall and silently begged him with soft open kisses down his neck and across his collarbone.

The first time they had sex with Newt lying back and encouraging Graves with soft gentle hands and words to ride him it was another victory against Grindelwald. And if a few tears slipped down Graves’ cheeks as the afterglow faded, that was between them and the sheets only.

**Author's Note:**

> Come prod me on tumblr - @ladyoftheshrimp


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